


There Was A Time

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Norribeth, a little unrequited sparrabeth too, anti-whelp, but really this is a james/lizzy lovefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-28 08:39:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: What if Elizabeth had in fact fancied James Norrington as a girl, only to have been ignored by the dashing Navy captain? Miss Swann is not one to forgive and forget. Mid DMC on the deck of the Pearl, the cat escapes the bag. COMPLETE!!





	1. I. Ships In The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColorblindCity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorblindCity/gifts).



> With full credit and highest esteem to the incredible colorblindly, who whispered these lovely ideas in my ear the other night and I simply could not resist putting them down. Thank you hon! I am endlessly in love with your imagination! I am a grown ass woman and you had me spinning in circles and squealing like a little girl when we were messaging about this, lol! :D 
> 
> I also must give honorable mention to my dear snowbryneich, who I know also harbors head canon right along these lines and I honestly don’t know where her canons end and mine begin anymore. :)

# I.

 

“It’s a curious thing. There was a time when I would have given _anything_ for you to look like that while thinking about me,” lamented James Norrington, leaning his back on the gunwale of the Pearl beside Elizabeth.

Immediately the silly secret smile that had curled Elizabeth’s lips after her bout of wits with Jack Sparrow died, replaced by the stony façade she made a point to adopt in the former Commodore’s presence. One sculpted dark brow raised in answer, not deigning to bestow him with a verbal acknowledgement.

That he would have the _cheek_ to say such a thing to _her_?

That he would _dare_ look at her _now_ like a kicked dog, when for _years_ she had laid her heart at his feet, only to have it tread upon by the handsome Navy captain who paid her no mind at all.

Even now just the thought of the depth of the devotion she’d harbored for this man as a girl caused her hands to tighten to a white-knuckled grip upon the gunwale, the old pain of her disappointment washing over her in a wave of bitter memories. Sleepless nights and restless days, watching by the window hoping he would call upon King’s House with the excuse to discuss the business of the island with her father, but really perhaps with the desire to see her?

She was not allowed to seek him out, mere girl that she was—always she was forced to wait for him to come to her.

Elizabeth Swann _hated_ waiting.

He rolled those green eyes her way, and she could feel him watching her. She knew the exact color of those once beloved orbs without even a glance. A true green, like the leaves of spring, or the emeralds pulled from the earth of New Spain. Her _favourite_ color once, and countless dresses she’d insisted upon having made to match the color of his eyes.

Not that he’d ever noticed.

In her annoyance that he would dare solicit sympathy from her _now_ the only answer she could muster was a disdainful _pffft_ of air from between her teeth.

After a long pause James nodded his head sadly, as though she’d recited him a soliloquy in explanation and he understood perfectly well. This only served to annoy Elizabeth more, for by her reckoning James Norrington understood _nothing_ of her heart, or the honored place he’d once held within it _._

He turned to go, and as she watched his broad-shouldered back retreating from her all the old venom surged up within her with the force of a storm-driven wave. Elizabeth had never directly spoken of her feelings, present or past, with James Norrington. It certainly wouldn’t have been proper—but she was a woman on the lam from the law now, alone on a pirate ship dressed in boy’s breeches. If ever there was a time to speak her mind, it was now.

“As if you would have noticed,” she spat at the faded blue broadcloth of his back.

James froze, his posture bolting upright. Slowly he turned to regard her over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. “I beg your pardon?”

Elizabeth pushed off from the gunwale, a tremor like a rumbling volcano coursing through her core. “I _said_ that had I looked upon you with affection, James Norrington, _you_ wouldn’t have noticed. I know this for a _fact._ ”

Bewildered, James slowly turned to face Elizabeth, his confusion written upon his handsome features. Unkempt, dirty, the dark scruff of who knew how many months upon his chiseled jaw—she found his current roguish appearance even _more_ appealing than before, and this annoyance only added to her rancor.

No doubt he thought of all the time he’d spent courting her, and the cold reception he’d received at every turn. The dances dutifully but never joyfully accepted. Conversations over tea peppered with subtle but cutting remarks, and turns in the garden met with stony silence while he blathered away about the weather. Only at her father’s continued assurance that she harbored feelings for him did he persist in his suit.

“For a _fact,_ you say?”

Elizabeth paused, now regretting that she’d opened her mouth at all. Did she really want to admit to the affection she’d harbored like a horde of precious jewels secreted away in the deepest chambers of her heart? She didn’t think she wanted to give him the satisfaction, _or_ open that Pandora’s box again. She’d spent _far_ too much time and energy banishing it to the desert just let it return again.

“Never mind.” She made to stalk past him, planning to hide in the closet of a cabin Jack had given her for this voyage.

But at this juncture James could not let her flit away _now._ It was perhaps the most ungentlemanly thing he’d done in the span of his entire life, but he wrapped strong fingers around her slender upper arm as she passed, preventing her escape.

“Let go of me.” She flung her words as daggers, but stoically James withstood them.

“After everything I have been through, Miss Swann, I fear I require further explanation.”

Elizabeth tugged on her arm, but his grip was like a band of steel. She might have complained he was hurting her, but she was made of stronger stuff than that. She gritted her teeth, as though chewing up the words she might offer him before spitting them in his face. Finally she lifted her chin to that haughty angle that James both admired and had come to dread. “ _There was a time_ , James Norrington, when I thought you had hung the moon and all the stars.”

That deep furrow appeared in James’ brow at hearing these words, those green eyes boring into her. “ _When_?” he demanded, for he could certainly not remember a single moment when it had seemed so.

Realizing that this was the part where her self-righteous indignation became a touch _hairy,_ Elizabeth reluctantly admitted, “…When I was younger. Now please let me go.”

She tugged at her arm, but James _couldn’t_ release her now. With both hands he clasped her arms, and for a moment by the wild look in his eyes she thought he might shake her.

“ _How much_ younger?”

She averted her eyes, unable to hold his gaze as next she admitted in a decidedly meeker voice, “Thirteen.”

And fourteen. And fifteen. And sixteen.

 _Years_ she’d wasted, pining for a man who could not return her ardor. What a fool she’d been.

James’ mouth hung open wide at hearing this. No doubt he thought her the most foolish chit to ever have lived. But his voice came surprisingly gentle, for the revelation she’d just lay before him. “Elizabeth? _Thirteen?_ You were but a _girl._ ”

Whatever momentary meekness she’d felt evaporated in a sudden firestorm of fury then. As if having been a _girl_ meant her love had been any less _real_? As if her devotion had been inconsequential because she was _too young_? As if her pain had not caused her to lay abed in agony after each of his visits, wishing for some small sign…

“I was a girl,” she spat. “And then I wasn’t. And you _still_ found me beneath your notice.” She laughed, a sharp harsh burst of air that was damning as a hurled expletive. “ _God_ , what a little fool I was. The _hours_ I wasted, crafting tokens for you. Like the drawing I made of the _Dauntless_ for you, which you left in my father’s office. You couldn’t even be bothered to pretend.”

James closed his eyes, racking his brains for the event she spoke of that had apparently caused her such injury, unbeknownst to him. And then he remembered a pen and ink rendering she had presented to him one day, actually a very fine piece of work for an artist her age. He had thanked her graciously, and then he and Weatherby had retired to the Governor’s office to discuss the running of things while James was called away. He’d sailed the very next day.

How old had she been then? Fifteen? Sixteen, _maybe_? It felt like a lifetime ago, now. Yet still, this knowledge made him _dizzy._ To know that at some point in time, even if not the _right_ time, that she had _cared_ for him, perhaps even _loved_ him? It was nearly too much to bear, looking back from where he stood amongst the ruins of his life.

“Elizabeth…even if I had understood the true feeling behind that gift, you were not yet out in society. I couldn’t possibly have displayed a return of your affection. It would have been unseemly.”

“Yes, well, you missed my debut too, didn’t you?” How many times had she curled up in her bed, fantasizing about the event in which she would finally be acknowledged as an adult in society, and how she had _wanted_ her first dance as a woman to be with James Norrington. She’d planned it all out. He would take her hand and look upon the beauty she had become, and finally _see_ her _._

He had indeed missed her coming out, though by no design of his own. He and the Dauntless had been ordered to support Admiral Hosier in the blockade Portobello, a disastrous action that resulted in the loss of some four-thousand men to disease. It had been a more than a year before he returned to Jamaica, during which the knees and elbows sprite of a child had bloomed into the woman who now stood before him. He still remembered laying eyes upon her at the top of the stairs, when Weatherby had welcomed him back to the Caribbean with a celebratory dinner. The sight of her had hit him like a cannon ball between the eyes, and the whole evening he’d hardly been able to keep himself from staring at her.

Gone was the freckle faced girl with the open smile and twigs in her hair from some illicit adventure with the young blacksmith’s apprentice Will Turner. In her place was a creature seemingly not of this world, a lady who still retained a mischievous twinkle in her caramel colored eyes, a great beauty made all the more irresistible by her quick wit and a coy insouciance that somehow drove him _mad._

“I was at _war,_ ” he protested. “And if you recall, when I returned I _did_ take notice of you. A great _deal_ of it, to your seeming chagrin.” Weatherby had encouraged it, imparting slyly that he had it on good authority that his daughter fancied Captain Norrington, and would welcome him as a suitor for her hand.

In person, it had seemed nothing could be less the case. She had been cold to his overtures, stammered as they were—she’d even bordered on _cruel_ at times. Inexplicably with every rebuff James had found himself even more determined to breach her citadel. He supposed he was a man who loved a challenge, though never in a million years could he have guessed she would be his _ruin_.

Little did he know, that upon his departure for Panama and the seemingly careless disregard of her gift, Elizabeth had resolved to cut James Norrington from her heart once and for all. It simply hurt _too much_ not to have him. She had determined that she would not let him make such a fool of her again, and so she took all her love for this man and buried it _deep_ as she could in the back of her heart, firm that it would never trouble her again.

“By that point I had vowed that I would not let you hurt me again,” she admitted with eyes turned away, unable to look upon his face. There was an annoying wetness in the corners of her eyes, which she would have liked to have swiped away, had James not retained such a tight hold upon her arms. It was as though he feared she might slip away into thin air if he released her now. She would have rather taken a flogging than let him see her cry though, and so she held her eyes wide, blinking rapidly.

“You might have told me,” he admonished, still quite star struck by all these revelations. “I would have gladly made amends.”

“It wasn’t any of your concern by that point,” she lied, watching with a sordid pleasure as he flinched as her arrows struck home. And in truth, she had enjoyed his suit, perhaps too much. Tearing down his hopes at every opportunity, as he had once done to her. She knew it had been childish but she’d wanted him to _pay,_ just a little, for the pain he’d caused her.

Again those tears attempted to spill over, and she tried to shake him off, needing to flee. But James seemed incapable of letting go, staring down at her with an intensity that might have caught her on fire were she made of paper.

“The _Devil_ it wasn’t,” he answered, finally some fire entering his voice. After every sacrifice he had made for her? After the way he had _loved_ her, blindly, doggedly, with utmost devotion? _Still_ loved her, even, despite all that had happened? “Have you _no_ mercy in that heart of yours?”

This infuriated her to no end. That he would _dare._ Her heart was vast as an ocean, too wild to tame, too complex to chart. She had tried to show him. She had tried, and he had remained utterly oblivious when she had needed him most.

Abruptly she kicked him in the shin, and with a yelp of surprise James finally released her. Quickly she scurried off down the companionway to her cabin, where she slammed the door.

Despite these barriers, the unmistakable sounds of a woman weeping could be heard drifting up through the grate. James received several dirty looks from the crew for this, the one they called Raggetti shaking his head and admonishing, “S’not nice t’make the Poppet cry. For shame, former Commodore.”

Once he’d been what some would call a great man. Now he was reduced to _this—_ a dirty wastrel with no ship and no heading, scolded by pirates, loathed by the one woman he’d ever truly loved. Hanging his head, James felt his own eyes moistening. What a bloody buggery he had made of all this.

There was a time when she had _adored_ him, what some would call a mere girlish infatuation, but Elizabeth had always been a precocious child. Such seedlings of affection might have been cultivated into a woman’s love, but now he feared all that remained were the bitter ashes of disappointment. They had passed each other like ships in the night, destinies entwined but never joined. 


	2. Her Favourite Sin

# II. Her Favourite Sin

 

Day faded into night. The dinner bell was rung, but Elizabeth did not join the crew in the mess, much too distraught to even consider taking nourishment. She felt hollow, having cried her eyes out upon the flat pillow of her lumpy berth. After holding all this resentment in for so long, finally letting it out in such an explosion of anger left her feeling surprisingly light and listless, like the slightest breeze might blow her away.

She wasn’t really sure who she was anymore, or what she wanted, perhaps past not being hung by the neck for aiding the escape of a pirate. She wasn’t even sure she still wanted to marry Will, which was a horrible thing, for he was out there somewhere risking his life, trying to win their freedom.

Despite this, she found herself slipping off the simple gold band that was her betrothal ring and placing it upon the small table beside the berth. She stared at it as though the little object might speak, but no great revelations came.

There was a soft knock upon the door, of which caused her own heart to thump in response.

“Who’s there?”

“James Norrington, my lady. May I…have a word?”

Elizabeth chewed her lip, staring at the door for what felt like ages. My god, how could she face him now? After the way she’d spoken to him… Well, she supposed after all this James deserved his own chance to get in a few lashes. She certainly deserved them.  

She hardly recognized her voice when she called meekly, “You may enter.”

He opened the door slowly, as though expecting her to change her mind and perhaps fling the chamber pot at him for good measure. But he found her sitting on her bunk, looking for all the world very small and lost, which tore at his heartstrings.

“I think we both know I’m no lady anymore,” she grumbled as quietly he shut the door behind him, gesturing down at her boy’s costume of breeches, shirt, and tunic. His eyes followed the motion of her hand, and he fought like hell not to let his eyes linger on those long shapely legs that her breeches left naught to the imagination.

“You will always be a lady in my eyes, Miss Swann,” he insisted, the firmness of his tone not quite matching the uncertainty with which he took a step into the tiny room.

She paid him the faintest of smiles, which somehow reminded him of the guileless little girl she’d once been. “That is kind of you.”

To her surprise James came to stand before her, and slowly sank down to his knees. He was so tall that it put them nearly eye to eye. “Elizabeth, I should _always_ be kind to you. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies for the times I was not. It was _never_ my intention to hurt you. I am a beast, and I am so sorry for the distress I caused you.”

Despite his unruly appearance, James was the farthest thing from _a beast_ that Elizabeth could fathom, and she felt very low in that moment for making him suffer so. James started when Elizabeth reached out to tuck a stray dark strand of hair behind his ear, her touch searing his skin like fire. Wide green eyes turned up to hers, lips parted in a question he could not voice.

“I am the one who has behaved like a perfect hoyden,” she assured him. “Of course it would have been improper of you to acknowledge my affection when I was just a girl. I should be glad you are not such a cad; there are plenty of men out there who would have had no qualms and took advantage. I am the one who should be sorry, and I am. Pride is my favorite sin, it would seem, and I took my revenge much too far.”

Unbidden, the tears returned, and she could not fathom how she had any left in her body after the way she’d cried before. “Oh my lady, please don’t cry,” said James tenderly, scrabbling in his coat for a handkerchief. When at last he managed to produce one, ragged and worn as the thing was, Elizabeth gasped at the sight of it.

“You _kept_ that? After all this time?”

An old square of linen embroidered with his initials, a border of uneven squiggles around the edges that were a child’s attempt at nautical rope, and a lumpy anchor upon one corner.

“Of course,” answered James with a sad smile. “It was a gift from a dear friend.”

How she had _labored_ over that thing, pricked her finger more times than she could count, even having had to abandon the first draft because it was stained with too much blood. Though usually she hated embroidering, with every stitch she had sought to infuse this token with all her love, chanting over it like a witch crafting a spell. Accepting the handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes, and ran her thumb over the poor stitching that somehow had held after all this time.

“I added this part because I wanted to anchor you to me,” she admitted, pointing to the detail of the corner.

A sad half smile tugged at the edge of James’ mouth. “What a little sorceress you were,” he teased. “For all these years later here we are: my heart belongs only to you.” Whether she loved him or Will or even Jack Sparrow, damn him, James loved _her,_ and he knew he always would _._

A sob escaped her then, which she unsuccessfully attempted to quell with the enchanted object in question. Not knowing what else to do, James opened his arms to her, and Elizabeth cried again with her head upon his shoulder. His knees began to ache from resting on the hard oak planks of the Pearl, but still he held her until she quieted again.

“I was going to say yes, you know,” she admitted in a small voice, her breath warm against his neck. “I intended to let you stew a little, but I’d planned to accept your proposal.” She’d imagined it countless times, like the victor of battle accepting the sword of a conquered enemy. “But then the pirates took me and Will happened—I told myself it was for the best. That you would be better off without me, after I was so terrible to you. But instead it all just went to Hell, didn’t it?”

James went very still beneath her, certain that she could surely hear his heart thundering in his chest. Finally he answered in as neutral a tone as he could muster, “It’s alright, Elizabeth. None of this was your fault. Sometimes…these things just happen.”

Elizabeth could think of no one else in the world to whom such an odd and ruinous string of events had _just_ _happened_ , but she did not argue.

James’ eyes flitted around Elizabeth’s cabin. True, it was small, but aside from that it seemed Jack had done his best to make her comfortable. His eyes caught on a glint of gold on the side table, and he realized it was the ring she’d been wearing on her left hand. _Will’s ring._ Suddenly his heart missed a beat, as he wondered what it meant that she’d taken it off.

_Don’t get your hopes up, you fool._

Just as he told himself this, he felt her lips upon his _neck,_ an unmistakable pillow soft kiss upon his pulse that caused his heart to beat to quarters. But before it could turn into more Elizabeth pulled back to regard him. Somehow with eyes and nose swollen red from crying, she was still so very beautiful. Elizabeth paid him a watery smile, reaching up to trace the curve of his cheek.

What a perfect flat she’d been. If she’d just been able to swallow her pride, let go of her anger…she and James could very well have been happily married at this very moment. Perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen from the ramparts. Perhaps…

“Why _did_ your father insist that you fancied me?” James asked. He could not quite work it out. If she had been so set on loathing him after his return from Portobello, then _why_?

For the second time that night James beheld the little girl she’d once been, when Elizabeth appeared almost _shy_ as she considered the answer to this question. “I think he must have found one of the numerous slips of paper upon which I’d practiced signing my name _Elizabeth Anne Norrington_ over and over. They were in such plentiful supply in my room that I couldn’t possibly have managed to burn them all.”

James looked upon her with mouth hanging open wide. Just to hear her say their names in conjunction did inexplicable mischief to his insides, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. “It does have a rather nice ring to it,” he dared, his tone flippant but his words quite sincere.

Elizabeth bit her lip in reply, looking down at the man on his knees before her, her heart suddenly in her throat. For the life of her she knew she should keep her mouth shut. She’d caused enough tumult in the lives of men for a lifetime of sin. There was probably a special circle of Hell just for girls like her. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from admitting quietly, “It does, doesn’t it?”

James closed his eyes. He had to _go_. Elizabeth was cheered and he had issued his apology, his duty was done. If he stayed a moment longer…he was afraid he would grab this woman up and never let go. Yet when he opened his eyes again he found Elizabeth even closer, perched on the very edge of her berth, her hand resting upon the hollow of his throat. Her hand was so small and warm upon that triangle of his bare skin, and gently she pulled at him like the tide…

He wasn’t sure who kissed who in the next few seconds. Only that suddenly his mouth was touching hers, a slow lock of lips that sent a tremor straight through his core, through to his _soul,_ a small sound escaping her that drove him _mad_.

 _She was kissing James Norrington._ After so many sleepless nights imagining what it would be like, Elizabeth found it was nothing like she’d expected, and somehow better than she’d ever dreamed. He was so gentle, _so sweet_ , somehow even after _everything_ she’d done to him.

_He loved her._

She had no doubt, and the knowledge made her dizzy with wanting, pressing closer. His long fingers slid into her hair at the back of her neck, sending a shudder marching down her spine. Just the tip of his tongue touched hers, and she felt as though she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, her every nerve singing at attention.

She forgot everything but the man before her. Will. Jack. Beckett. Nothing seemed real, but James’ hands in her hair and his lips upon hers, at last. _At last_.

James quickly drew back with a shuddering gasp, finding a wide eyed Elizabeth before him. Breathing hard, she immediately folded her hands into her lap, clasping her fingers together tightly as though she did not trust herself otherwise. For a few long moments, the former Commodore felt certain his heart might beat out of his chest. A single question burned in his mind, but he could not bring himself to say it aloud. _Is there the slightest chance you could still love me?_

Looking down at James, this great man brought so low by her childish designs, who somehow still could find the kindness in his heart to comfort her, she was certain of only one thing: she did not deserve him in the least.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at her lap.

A shaky laugh escaped James before he could stop himself; absently his fingers pressed to his lips, where only moments ago her long-coveted mouth had been. His insides warred between giddy elation and utter collapse. A kiss from Elizabeth Swann had been a prize he’d coveted for _years_. Yet now that he’d had it—he just wanted _another_ , greedy cad that he had become.

“No need to apologize, I assure you,” he told her, his own voice not exactly steady.

She hadn’t meant for the kiss, really, but his reaction was endearing. Her thirteen year old self was screaming inside with a fierce triumphant joy that she knew she had no real right to. A ghost of a smile curled her lips before her gaze cast about the little room, finally landing upon the gold ring resting on the table.

The smile died.

“I don’t know what I am going to do,” she confessed, and despite everything James felt sorry for her in that moment. Like a prized gem, it seemed all the men around her scrabbled to claim her before someone else could.

“Until you are certain, Elizabeth, you aren’t obliged to do anything,” he tried to assure her, knowing his advice could come off as more than a little self-serving. Of _course_ he didn’t want her to marry that boy. He couldn’t help that.

_As if he himself had a thing to offer her, now._

Aside from that, if she wasn’t sure she wanted to marry, he didn’t think Will would want her to go through with it either. He hoped the boy had that much decency.

She took her plump lower lip between her teeth in thought, nodding slowly. There was truth in that; what was the rush now? Back in Port Royal, in what felt like a former life, there had been so much pressure upon her to marry _someone._ The clock was ticking, and she was well on her way to spinsterhood. It was embarrassing to her father, and she knew all he wanted was to know she would be provided for by someone who cared for her.

Yet now…she was a woman alone sailing on a pirate ship—her reputation was beyond salvaging. In other words…she was _free._ She was sure Jack would let her stay as long as she wanted on the _Pearl_ , so long as they found the chest on the morrow. Despite his playful overtures, she didn’t really think he would make demands of her. No matter the villain others would paint him, he wasn’t _that_ sort of pirate.

“And what will _you_ do, James?” she asked, taking him unawares. He raised an eyebrow, utterly without an answer. Once he’d rather thought he might like to put a lead ball in Jack Sparrow, but even that desire was fading. He’d seen _so much_ senseless death the past year, and…such a thing would have made Elizabeth quite unhappy. Despite everything, that was the _last_ thing he wished to achieve. Again. Apparently.

He sat back on his heels and held his hands wide, signaling he had no real answer to that at the moment. Not but a day ago he’d expected to die in a tavern brawl after shooting Jack Sparrow, and had Elizabeth not appeared like an angel of mercy above him he never would have mustered the will to extricate himself from that mud puddle.

Nodding, Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I suppose it’s just hard for me to imagine you sailing under Jack Sparrow indefinitely,” she admitted.

“I think we both know the reason I am here has nothing to do with serving Sparrow,” James dared point out, and though it was hard to tell in the low light of the cabin, he could have swore her cheeks colored in a blush.

“How lucky I am to have such a guardian angel at hand,” she teased in a thready voice, and James looked down at the disheveled remains of his uniform skeptically, trying to ignore the way her words made his heart skip in his chest.

“A frightful one, to be sure,” he snarked self-deprecatingly. “More than a little worse for wear, I fear.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” she said with that pout that stole his breath away, reaching out to caress his bearded cheek once more. “And I must confess I like this new addition.”

James froze under her touch, knowing that if he did not quit her presence soon he really would do something even more ungentlemanly than grabbing her arm or visiting her cabin late at night for a chat. Clasping her hand in his, he settled for pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and slowly pushed to his feet. His joints ached from the prolonged position on his knees; perhaps he was getting old.

“It’s late, Elizabeth. We have a big day tomorrow, or so Sparrow would have us believe.”

Elizabeth nodded, finding she was sorry to see him inching towards the door. The temptation rose in her to ask him to stay, but a little voice hissed in her ear that she had tortured this dear man enough for one day.

Enough for a _lifetime._

“Good night, James.”

“Good night, Elizabeth.” His head dipped in a small bow, and he slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him. For a moment he leaned against the door, finding his knees felt rather _weak_ beneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and your comments!! If you're wondering how to make a grown woman dance in circles like a kid in a candy store--that'll do it! :)


	3. If You Love Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought this would be three chapters...but you know what they say about the best laid plans... ;) Ok, there's at least one more chapter here. I should have known my ambitions to keep this short and sweet would go up in flames. I hope you enjoy this one!

# III.

 

Elizabeth did not sleep that night, lying awake in her berth with the restless memory of James Norrington’s lips on hers, and his large hands tangled in her hair.

She should have been thinking about Will. Her poor fiancé out there somewhere, battling against impossible odds and who-knew-what dangers to win their freedom.

She didn’t think of Will.

Not one jot, and that could have been her answer, had she had the courage to ask herself The Question.

At the sound of the breakfast bell Elizabeth joined the jostle of the crew in the mess, ravenous after missing dinner. James Norrington was already seated at one of the hanging tables, looking pensively at a piece of hardtack clasped between his long fingers, and when he noticed her she paused, caught up in his emerald green gaze.

All the anger and resentment she’d carried inside her all these long years seemed to have evaporated, leaving her heart light as a feather inside. How good it felt to be so _free._ A fierce joy she knew she had no right to surged up inside her, and she dared offer James a shy smile from across the mess. After a moment of appearing as though he’d taken a lead ball to the chest, he returned it, and something indescribable jetted through her veins, tingling all the way to her fingertips.

With pewter trencher in hand she found a seat across from James. A simple breakfast of hardtack, salted beef, and an egg never seemed such a delicacy. “My, cook’s set on spoiling you,” James teased at the sight of the sunny yellow disk on her plate.

Elizabeth raised eyebrows, looking about at everyone else’s meals. No one else could boast the delicious addition. Elizabeth gasped, a worried gaze flying to Cotton in the galley. The kind old man winked at her and went back to his pans. “Oh dear. I didn’t expect special treatment.”

No one else, however, seemed to notice or care.

Elizabeth had been raised with every luxury imaginable at her fingertips; never in her former life could she imagined she could feel so touched over the gift of _a fried egg._

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said James. As much as he hated to admit it, as pirates went, this rag-tag lot of misfits was not the most blood thirsty group. Everyone seemed to dote on _The Poppet_ like a visit from an old friend. Once, he’d been quite intent on hanging every man in this room, and somehow they didn’t seem to hold that against him either.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Passably.” If lying half-awake in his hammock thinking of their kiss counted. “And you?”

“Oh yes,” she lied, utterly unable to admit she’d spent the night doing much of the same.

James shifted, his long legs brushing hers under the table. Elizabeth started, winning a quick apology from the former Commodore, who sought to somehow arrange his limbs in the small space in a way that did not come in contact with hers. But immediately Elizabeth felt the loss, and with her lip between her teeth she slowly reached out to rest her foot against his. Such a small contact, through layers of leather and stocking, practically _innocent,_ still had the power to steal James’ breath away. He stared, perhaps too intensely, because with a smile Elizabeth turned her attention back down to her plate.

Ravenous, Elizabeth devoured her food, save the last bite of egg which she offered to James on the end of her fork. This time he managed to pause for only _half_ an eternity, before accepting the morsel between his lips, managing not to impale himself with the swaying motion of the ship. Such little things he’d once taken for granted as an officer. The bright flavor burst upon his tongue, and for a moment he closed his eyes, savoring it. When he opened them again he found Elizabeth was watching him, a small if not mysterious smile in place.

“Delicious.” He wasn’t sure if he spoke of the bite of egg, the fork where her lips had also been, or the feeling of her small foot pressed against his own. This morning everything felt so… _vivid._

“James….” she sighed, reaching out with her left hand to brush his fingers with hers. She wasn’t really sure what exactly she meant to say. Her mind seemed to be making mad circles like hounds chasing a fox, and yet also somehow everything felt so clear and _light._ The world was brighter than it had been in _ages,_ and every time she looked into those lovely green eyes she felt as though she might float right off her seat _._

James dared take her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her ring finger that was conspicuously _bare_. She’d not put back on that simple gold band, and for the umpteenth time his heart attempted to march right out of his chest.

Elizabeth wore it upon a hemp string around her neck, tucked away beneath her shirt. It itched, which she found to be an appropriate penance, her very own hair shirt. She shouldn’t be able to easily forget that it was there, waiting.

His hands were large and rough on the palms now, and yet so gentle as he turned her smaller mitt in his, caressing the inside of her wrist in a way that sent a thrill marching down her spine. She gasped—he’d _never_ touched her like that when he had courted her. Lightly the tips of his fingers rested upon her pulse, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as though he took some comfort in the fact that her heart too seemed to be rebelling against the idea that it must stay put within her chest.

James opened his mouth as though to say something, _anything,_ but was interrupted by a great commotion above, calls of _land ho_ and _heave to!_

They had arrived.

 

**XXX**

 

Jack Sparrow had been telling the truth, and yet that was not the strangest thing that would happen to them that day.

There really was a chest, and a barnacly thumping mass of meat inside that could loosely be called _a heart._ It seemed like madness that all the power of the ocean could rest in the control of this _thing_ , and yet Jack’s joy in finding it could have convinced an onlooker that he’d stumbled upon the horde of the entire treasure fleet of Spain.

Will emerged from the sea to break up their party, and though Elizabeth greeted him with relief it was clearly not the welcome he’d expected. She did not fling herself into his arms and lay siege to his citadel with a barrage of kisses. Usually, he was the one who had to call some order to her affections, but this bright day she just stood in the sand beside a tall pirate who only upon second glance did Will realize was _James Norrington._

Something was rotten on the _Isle las Cruces,_ it seemed, and the boy’s response was to immediately draw his sword and point it at Jack. “I need that heart to free my father,” he declared, winning an eye roll from the wily pirate.

“Don’t be stupid, Will,” interjected Elizabeth, standing between her fiancé and Jack. “We’re going back to the _Pearl_. We’ll sort it out there.” She marched off in said direction, and with a shrug and gold glinting smile, Jack followed.

Sufficiently chastised, Will fell in beside James. There was something telling in the way the three of them so easily fell in behind that golden haired girl who marched so purposefully with chin held high.

“What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?” asked the blacksmith, winning a raise of eyebrow in return from the former Commodore.

 _Stealing back my fiancée_ might have been the most accurate description of James’ desires, if not entirely ambitious in actual practice. He tamped down the impulse to beat Will with the shovel and answered in equally haughty tones, “Damned if I know.”

 

**XXX**

 

“Have you ever been in love, Jack?”

The pirate captain choked on a swallow of rum, or at least pretended to. The more time Elizabeth spent in his presence, the more she realized half his antics were pure show. Jack was not mad, or daft—he was just… _singular_. Exceptionally so.

Elizabeth sat opposite Jack at his desk, working on a navigation assignment. Over the past few months he had taken her underwing, as it were, teaching her the mathematics and geometry one needed to plot a course. Elizabeth had not been allowed much tutoring in maths as a girl, as too much knowledge in the subject was considered unladylike, even unseemly, but she had a head for numbers and was taking to the subject like a gull to water.

Despite her interest in the subject, her mind wandered. It was late and the candles burned low. As exciting and perfectly scandalous as it was to keep company alone with Jack Sparrow in his cabin, it was another captain who occupied her thoughts.

Constantly.

“Would this line of questioning have anything to do with a certain former commodore we have aboard?” countered Jack with a flash of gold teeth.

Immediately that tell-tale muscle ached in her chest at just the passing _mention_ of James Norrington. It was _beyond_ absurd.

“I am sure I do not take your meaning, Captain Sparrow,” said Elizabeth, examining a pair of calipers closely. But it was clear to Jack’s eyes that she saw past the instrument in her hands, to a tableau beyond painted by her mind.

“Oh, come now, love. Ol’ Jack sees all that goes on upon his ship.”

Elizabeth certainly _hoped_ that wasn’t the case. She touched her lips with the memory of the last time James had kissed her, pressing her hard against the bulkhead below decks in a rare moment they found themselves alone, their embrace particularly fevered. _His hands in her hair and the hard line of his body against hers…_ she’d whimpered a plea for him to meet her in her cabin later, but he’d said no.

He always said no.

Who said there was no honor amongst thieves?

Elizabeth wanted James so much some nights she thought she might crawl out of her skin, laying alone in her bunk.

_“Why not?” she’d demanded._

_“Because I have nothing to offer you,” he’d insisted._

Nothing could have been farther from the truth by her reckoning, but he refused to relent. He would share sweet smiles across the deck and stolen kisses, he would watch over her with that fierce green gaze, as though any of the crew would dare be anything but perfectly indulgent of her—but he would not _completely_ dishonor her. No matter that she was completely and totally willing to surrender her virtue. It was not useful to her anymore.

Jack went on, his sly voice interjecting into her thoughts, “And now that the whelp’s no longer in the picture…”

Also true.

After Jack had secured his freedom— _and_ Bootstrap Bill’s, with the leverage of the heart, the seas were practically free for the taking for the crew of the _Pearl_. In the days after their victory the inevitable questions had raised between Elizabeth and Will. _What now?_ Will wanted to return to land, settle down, and never set foot on a boat again. Elizabeth desired quite the opposite, or so it seemed.

_Why wasn’t she wearing her ring?_

_Everything has changed_ was the best explanation Elizabeth had to offer. There was a row, of course. She’d returned said ring—well, flung it, really, and Will disembarked when next they made port at Nassau.

Elizabeth thrived aboard the _Pearl,_ which perhaps was no great surprise to anyone, considering. She helped with what duties she could—there was always plenty to be done. Not every task aboard a ship required exceptional brawn, though her sword arm grew stronger every day. She had sharp eyes and lookout duty high in the maintop soon became her favorite. She felt like the Queen of the Ocean when perched in the crow’s nest, the endless sapphire sea glittering all around.

“You are avoiding my question,” said Elizabeth, taking a healthy swig of rum from the bottle on the table.

Jack weighed her with that dark stare, his thoughts utterly inscrutable. She disliked it when he looked at her that way, if only because she felt certain he could see straight into her soul.

_Peas in a pod._

However, she did not flinch from his scrutiny, and Sparrow must have found something that satisfied him. In the end he was the one who looked away, suddenly very interested in the silver and emerald ring upon his thumb. “Once.”

“Only once?”

She did not mean to be cruel, Jack reckoned. She was just blind—blind because the only man she could see on this ship was James _bloody_ Norrington _._ He suppressed the urge to sigh.

“Aye, once I was so foolish. When I was about your age. Maybe a little younger, even.”

He had her attention, and intently she looked to her captain, waiting for more. When it did not come she prompted, “And what was her name?”

Jack narrowed his eyes, and took another swig of rum. “Esme.”

“And what was she like?”

Jack paused for so long she thought he might not answer her, but finally with a distant look he described, “She was maddeningly beautiful, utterly untamable, deadly as an asp, and somehow…also kind. I’ve never met another woman like her.” Except perhaps the one sitting in front of him at that very moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it now. She would hear the admiration in his tones, and he would be found out.

“What happened?” Elizabeth whispered, fearing she knew by the distant way Jack spoke of this Esme.

“She died.” He said it so flatly that she knew he in fact was hiding a sea of emotion behind his blasé delivery.

Elizabeth’s lips pursed, rather regretting that she’d broached the subject. “I’m so sorry.”

“As am I.” Jack took another drink. “Calf love. Nothin’ quite like it, is there? The sweetness and the agony. Usually it don’t last, though. It can’t. Things that burn that hot must fizzle themselves out eventually.” She’d never heard Jack speak so sentimentally, and also perhaps never so candidly.

Again, Elizabeth felt that ache like a fist gripping her heart. “And what if it doesn’t?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small. “What if it becomes something… _stronger_ than a child’s love? Something _deeper_?”

Something _undeniable_ that lived and breathed inside you like a dragon made of light? Because it was not just James Norrington’s kisses that made her want him. It was quiet moments when they stood at the taffrail and he told her of his country boyhood in the downs. It was the unexpected flash of his true smile when she made him laugh. It was the way he _looked_ at her, as though she were the only woman in the whole world. She had thought James beautiful since she was a girl, but now for so many reasons she’d never fathomed before. Now that she’d been allowed to see his real self she wanted him more than ever.

Jack suddenly looked very sad in that moment as he looked upon her, his eyes filled with a darkness she could not name. “Then you’d best hold on for dear life, love. That stuff will kill you given half a chance.”

A strangled little laugh escaped her, though she knew for once he did not make sport of her. With a heavy sigh Jack rifled about for a key in a top drawer, using it to unlock another lower one in his desk. “I was wondering whose problem James Norrington was,” he mused absently. “Mine, or yours. A man like that needs… _more_ than life as a deckhand on a pirate ship, else he may become troublesome _._ ”

He withdrew something from the drawer, and tossed it onto the desk before Elizabeth. The leather folio landed with a loud _slap_ that caused Elizabeth to jump in her chair. Instantly she recognized the Letters of Marque. She’d almost forgotten all about them.

“Jack?”

Leaning elbows on the desk, the wily pirate captain laid out a plan, to which Elizabeth listened raptly. At the end of it she raced around to hug him hard around the neck, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek that made his insides lurch with the urge to grab her up, to turn his head and _really_ kiss her, _just once_ , like the piratical rogue he claimed to be. He might never get the chance again.

But she left the cabin unscathed, and as he watched Elizabeth Swann skip out his door, her long blonde queue swishing behind her, the folio under her arm, he let out a heavy sigh.

Well, what was the old adage? If you love something, set it free to terrorize the seven seas?

Lifting the now near empty bottle of rum Jack made a toast to the empty seat where she’d been, and took a _long_ swig.

Gods help them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and your comments!! :D


	4. Expanded Ambitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok OK! I know I've gone overboard, but I can confidently say now that there will be five chapters! haha. I blame Jack. He talks a lot. ;) Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)

# IV. Expanded Ambitions

 

Elizabeth found James by the gunwale, looking out over the starry sea. “Evening,” she greeted cordially, wondering if he could hear her heart thundering in her chest, her excitement crackling like lightning in her veins?

“Good evening, Elizabeth.”

He turned to regard her, curious of the singsong notes in her voice. She seemed pent up with something, practically _dancing_ in place, her eyes shining in the dark. Up to something, clearly, but my God was she beautiful. That familiar ache squeezed his chest—it _almost_ didn’t even seem to hurt anymore, he experienced it with such frequency now.

“I wonder if you might do me the honor of calling upon me in my cabin at eight bells?”

Midnight seemed the appropriate time to discuss such business alone.

James let loose a pained sigh, which sounded like annoyance but in fact was something _quite_ different.

_Desire._

He thought of how he’d kissed her not long ago, pressing their bodies hard against the bulkhead, claiming her mouth ravenously with his own. How she’d _melted_ under him, moaning in his mouth with wanton abandon, her fingers digging into his shoulders, holding him close. Despite the chill in the breeze the memory made him warm all over. Partly the fervor of this interlude had been at her urging, but not all. No, not all, and that had been in a _public_ space. What would he do in the privacy of her cabin? This was the man he had become, and James Norrington did not trust that man one bit to resist the temptation that was Elizabeth Swann.

“Elizabeth…” he scolded, winning a small laugh.

“My God, James, one would think _you_ are the blushing virgin between us. Your virtue is safe, I promise you. Just…please come?”

James felt grateful for the shadows, knowing his cheeks burned a scarlet red at the mention of her experience…or lack thereof. Which, truth be told, he was grateful to hear for all the time she spent in Jack Sparrow’s cabin, even if it was none of his damned business.

But there was something inexplicably… _desperate?_ —in Elizabeth’s tone, and so he found himself nodding in acquiescence. “Very well. Eight bells.”

Her smile in that moment was brighter than the sun. “Thank you.”

James watched her disappear down the companionway, suddenly ravenously curious as to what she was plotting.

 

**XXX**

 

His quietly scratched at the door, as though anyone aboard would have cared that the former Commodore met the Poppet for a midnight rendezvous in her cabin. A soft call of “Enter,” bade him forward, and he slipped inside, shutting the portal quietly behind him.

She was perched on her berth, which was the only seating to be had in this closet of a room. “Come sit,” she offered, patting the mattress beside her. Again, that warm flush overtook him, and he was thankful for the low light of the single lantern burning on the bedside table. For a long moment he could only stand there, looking at her with what was no doubt a stupid expression on his face. A small smile curled those siren’s lips. “I won’t bite hard,” she reassured him, though the thought of her teeth in his flesh titillated more than it frightened.

James lowered himself slowly to sit upon the bunk, a great deal of space between them. Elizabeth looked at that chasm with a raised eyebrow, the smile gone. “Would this be our destiny?” she asked. “Either I will chase you, or you will chase me, but somehow we never manage to meet at the crossroads?”

James sighed heavily, resting elbows on his knees and his chin in his palm. “That would be a pity, would it not?”

“It certainly would. Perhaps I have a remedy.” She drew a leather folio from under her pillow and pressed it into his hands.

“What is this?”

“Have a look.”

She curled her feet under her, leaning against the head of the bed, watching him intently. Her gaze did not help his concentration as he unwrapped the leather thong to reveal an ornate document within.

James’ grass-green eyes widened owlishly as they scanned the page, his mind _reeling_ with the implications of such a paper in hand.

They were Letters of Marque and Reprisal, worth their weight in gold to a pirate—or a down and out sea captain with nothing left to loose.

“ _Where_ did you get _these_?” he demanded.

“Originally? I took them from Lord Cutler Beckett at gunpoint. Jack has been… _holding_ them for me.” She’d been slightly outraged when the cheeky Captain Sparrow offered to let her _have_ them, as though they had not been hers all along. The rest of his plan, however, quelled whatever resentment she might have harbored.

At this point James did not bat an eyelash at her explanation of their provenance.

“And now…you’re giving them to _me_?”

She paid him a smile that made his heart melt. “With one condition, of course.”

 _Conditions_. There were always to be conditions between them, it seemed. Yet at this point in time there could be no other response from him but, “Name it.”

“That you take me with you, and _never_ leave me on shore to wait for you.”

James closed his eyes, certain this must all be a dream. But when he opened them again Elizabeth was still there, looking upon him like a cat who ate the cream, clearly certain of what his answer would be.

_She wants to be with you._

Over and over, this thought streamed through his mind. _Elizabeth. With him._ Day in and day out, by his side, upon his ship...in his _bed_? Was she proposing marriage, or a _simpler_ arrangement? Somehow, he suspected the latter, though he found it did not scandalize him quite the way it would have in a former life. No matter the details, there was one other clear obstacle.

“We have no ship. Unless Sparrow has generously offered you the _Pearl_ as well?” It seemed unlikely—and James didn’t particularly even _like_ the _Pearl_ , truth be told. He missed the stately elegance of the _Dauntless_ , or the svelte fast lines of the _Interceptor_. Their bright whitewashed cabins and everything neatly in its place. This ship still felt like a floating ghost story to him, with its charred black wood and ghoulish ornamentation.

Elizabeth scoffed at that. “Of course not. We shall have to find one, is all. Jack has agreed to help with that too. For a small share of our prizes, of course, until we pay off the value of said ship, and the guarantee that we will not in turn harangue him.”

As if they _could_. With Jack in possession of the Heart of Davy Jones, it was in that pirate’s power to summon the Dutchman to destroy any ship he pleased. He was nigh untouchable, and Jack surely entrusted his immunity to that guarantee over a sentimental oath between friends. He was a pirate, after all, and despite James’ first assessment, a very good one.

On some mountain the Gods were laughing at the irony that the man who had proved the Commodore’s undoing would also somehow help him along to a second chance at life. But then he had begun to come to terms with the fact that no straight line or single word could effectively summarize Jack Sparrow. He was a trickster who stole but did not like to kill. And at times, his generous moments belayed the worst tragedies. Without Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth, the woman he loved more than life itself, would be dead at the bottom of the harbor of Port Royal. And James had repaid that kindness by determining to _hang_ him.

In a former life, James detested thieves because stealing undermined the efforts of good honest men—but then those _good honest men_ kept other human beings prisoner as slaves to enrich themselves with profits reaped of sugar, and to keep their houses clean, and their children tended. The world he’d once beheld from his lofty position as so white and black now presented itself in so many shades of grey. Once he would have found the idea of making a living as a privateer laughable, _dishonorable_ , but now it could be seen as none other than a great boon.

“James?” Elizabeth interrupted his brown-study by brushing a lock of dark hair from his eyes. “Don’t tear those, darling, we’ll need them.” He realized he was gripping the leather folio rather hard, and immediately his hold relaxed.

“Of course. Forgive me.” He re-folded the folio, placing the Letters upon the bedside table. Elizabeth looked upon him curiously. Perhaps this was not exactly the way she’d expected him to receive this news.

“Elizabeth…are you _certain_ this is what you want? The life of a privateer—it is a _hard_ life. And _dangerous._ It will not be like what you have experienced here.” After finding the heart the _Pearl_ had yet to take a single prize, truth be told. They’d been sailing around seemingly aimlessly, a pleasure cruise throughout the Caribbean without a care in the world. Jack claimed to have bigger fish to fry, but had yet to reveal his grand plans to the crew. There were whispers of Singapore, and so long as the rum  held the crew seemed content enough.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, annoyance slipping in around the corners of her expression, piqued that James would try to scare her off. As though she would not have faced perils on land? Child birth, perhaps, or the whole of Port Royal could have been swallowed in an earthquake. Crossing her arms, she sat back against the headboard again, and immediately James felt the absence of her. “There was a time, James Norrington, when the thing I wanted most in the world was to make you mine.”

James felt that telling heat flush his skin once more; he found himself sitting up straighter. There was an edge to her words, and he wondered if he’d already managed to bungle this chance with her. “And now?” he dared ask.

“My ambitions have expanded _slightly,_ ” she admitted. “I want the sea. I want freedom. And I want _you,_ you big oaf, and if you throw this away for us because _I might get hurt_ so help me God—”

Her tirade gave way to a girlish _yip_ as James hauled her into his lap and pressed his lips to hers. At first she struggled, mostly out of instinct and utter surprise. But soon she melted in his arms, reaching up to slide her fingers into his thick dark hair as she opened her mouth to him, inviting him to claim, letting him conquer.

 _This_ was what she wanted. Passion, abandon, _love._ Everything she’d been told as a girl that it was wrong for a lady to reach for. But _this_ was what she was _made_ for. The rules that once bound her in that gilded cage had no place here; _here_ , in the real world, _in James’ arms,_ she would thrive.

_I want you._

He could hardly believe he’d heard her say the words. And that she had brought these Letters to him, that she had hatched this plan _for them._ He was not used to Elizabeth’s machinations working out in his favor.

When at last they surfaced for air Elizabeth sagged in his arms with a contented sigh, her eyelids fluttering as a slow smile spread on her lips. “ _That_ is more like it,” she purred, winning a low chuckle from James. He supposed he _had_ seemed a trifle ungrateful, considering.

James swept her hair from her face, her queue broken free after his enthusiastic manhandling of it. With adoring eyes he looked upon her, his gaze sweeping over her form from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. “Did you really take those Letters from Beckett at gunpoint?” he asked, and her smile widened more.

“Yes. Surprised?”

He laughed, a joyful bark that made her heart sing. “Not in the least, my love. Not by half.” He kissed her again, this time slowly and deeply, taking his time to explore her lips and tongue and the crisp white line of her teeth. Somehow he imagined they should be sharper than they actually were.

Every nerve in Elizabeth’s body stood at attention, nestled against James’ broad chest, his long fingers sliding through her hair. A small shudder ran through her as he found the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, her hands fisting in the linen of his shirt. “I am regretting my promise to preserve your virtue tonight,” she teased, winning another quiet laugh and a kiss upon her hair.

“I fear that is _long_ gone, sweetheart” he admitted.

“Well…I suppose it’s actually _my_ virtue I would have done with, which I don’t recall making _any_ promises about,” she mused cheekily, reaching up to stroke his bearded cheek, brazenly straying to outline the curves of his mouth. James closed his eyes, searching the dusty corners of his soul for his very _last_ reserves of strength. It was not _marriage_ in of itself he held out for with Elizabeth. Indeed, he felt certain she’d had quite enough of _that,_ or at least the rituals leading up to it. But the things that should be inherent in a marriage: protection, provision, devotion. The latter came easily, but the first two he required of himself to be able to give her, and she would have them of him regardless if she bore his name or not, until the day he died.

He turned to kiss her wrist, leaning into the palm of her hand.

“When we have a ship—when we have a _home—_ I will gladly ravish you to your heart’s content. What say you to that?”

Her eyes suddenly glittered bright as a starry night, betraying she found that proposition _quite_ agreeable. “James Norrington!” she exclaimed, affecting scandal, though her wide smile gave away the ruse. “Do you promise?”

The rumbling chuckle that came from deep in his throat sounded more like a growl. “I promise, dear heart. I most _solemnly_ swear.” Again he kissed her, finding the little sounds she made to be the most blessed, most _maddening_ music that ever met his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and your comments! They make my day! :)


	5. Hardly The Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, though hardly the end. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is really it. The final chapter. :)  
> Thank you again to Mariel, for putting this bug in my ear! Your ideas are brilliant and I have enjoyed it immensely!  
> Erm--please note the rating change. Sorry! As usual I tried and failed to be good.  
> I feel like maybe I should also add that I actually have nothing against the French? My Lyonnaise ancestors are probably rolling over in their graves, lol, but it's just the Age of Sail thing. Officially, the British and the French hated each other and were always fighting. Thus...well you'll see. ;)

# V.

 

After the masterful caper that led to the acquiring of their ship, James began to believe that perhaps Jack Sparrow really had sacked Nassau without firing a single shot. Disguised as Dutch traders new to town, Jack’s mane of black hair hidden under a ridiculously towering periwig, they had perused the docks of Cap-Français for a prospective victim. Cheekily Jack had linked arms with James and Elizabeth both, musing under his breath, “I _love_ ship shopping—just think, this is how we all first met! Brings a tear to me eye…”

Elizabeth had stifled a giggle, hiding it behind her fan (for the first time in a _long_ time she was dressed as a lady). For a moment James appeared as though he might like to murder Jack, before his lips reluctantly twisted in a smile. It was hard to believe that old life, so far removed, had ever been real. “That’s also how I caught you last time, so keep your voice down,” James had muttered.

“No, you _caught_ me when this lovely lady took an inopportune dip in the sea.” He made a show of pulling Lizzy away from the edge of the dock. “Watch it, love. And you’re both welcome, by the way.”

When a svelte two-masted brigantine merchant vessel clearly caught James’ eye, for indeed he walked past it thrice, staring longingly all the while, Jack knew they’d picked their target. Brazen as the day, he marched up the gangway, engaging the crew and eventually the captain himself, ingratiating himself with admiration of the new ship ( _Ah! What advancements, monsieur! The French design, so superior!_ ) conveyed in choppy but charming Dutch accented French, quite a linguistic feat, even James had to admit. _Eh monsieur, I see you travel with much iron!_ had exclaimed Jack, noting an unusual amount of canons for a merchant vessel.

Capitaine La Grange, a man apparently susceptible to flattery, admitted that he was in the business of transporting expensive cargo, silks, sugar, and bullion, and did not like to leave things to chance or depend on an escort. _These waters are thick with pirates, vous savez?_

Elizabeth further addled the poor captain’s judgement by appearing at Jack’s side, fan a-flutter and generous décolletage on display. _Oh, you sell the silks! We are loving the French fashions, monsieur, do you not find them magnifique?_

Indeed, he did, and particularly upon the enchanting _Vrou Zwaan_. It took little more encouragement to secure his acceptance to an invitation to dinner in town. In the meantime they were given an enthusiastic tour of the vessel, during which Jack was able to slip a sizeable ration of laudanum into the water barrel as Elizabeth flirted. It was a marvel, really, how well they worked together. James might have been jealous, had she not intended to sail away on this ship with _him._

James spoke passable French but was not sure he could do it with quite the Hollander zeal Jack managed, and so he stood by, nodding agreeably in between ogling this ship’s assets like a boy in a sweet shop. He already knew where he would add more gun ports, and how the bulkheads could be shifted to make more room to clear for action, and…

Perhaps James still held mixed feelings about _thieving,_ but he had to admit he felt considerably less regret relieving the _French_ of a ship. He just tried to think of it as the taking of a prize…

At dinner they had entertained La Grange in great style, got him thoroughly drunk, then left him tied up in an alley. When they returned to the brigantine under the cover of darkness they found it perfectly quiet, and with the help of some Pearls standing by, she was taken back out to sea. The drugged crew who had been left behind to guard the ship were released into the mouth of the harbor, piled into a launch, where eventually they would wake up drifting in the harbor or washed to shore.

They set sail for Nassau, where they made a tidy fortune selling the hold bursting full of silks, sugar, and pearls, and used the profits to make additions to the new ship, which James elected to rename _The Swan._ He did not meet much resistance from its namesake, in fact earning a great deal of kisses that reminded him sharply of the promise he’d made to her in her cabin on the _Pearl._ He added more guns, a new coat of paint, acquired more men to crew her. There was so much profit Jack waived further payments on the ship, declaring their debt settled in full.

Jack threw a raucous party aboard the Pearl in celebration and farewell. The _Swan_ was all set to terrorize the seas, particularly French shipping, and the _Pearl’s_ next heading was Singapore, where they would search out a pirate named Sao Feng and an ancient map that would lead to untold treasures of antiquity and undoubtedly weird shores. This celebration included rum punch, music, and mad wheeling about the deck that James supposed was meant to be dancing. But with a little punch even he joined in, spinning around in circles with Elizabeth as she joyously sang some pirate ballad at the top of her lungs. Everything went by in a blur after that. The next morning he would briefly remember discussing certain points of Plato’s _Republic_ with Ragetti, and possibly also the Parrot.

During the melee Elizabeth drew Jack aside, hugging him fiercely. “I really cannot thank you enough,” she told him, to which he’d paid her a sly half-smile.

“Well, thus far I’ve fixed ye up with a blacksmith and a Commodore turned privateer, love. When you think it’s time to add a _real_ pirate to the list come find me again, eh?”

She rolled her eyes, certain he jested, never suspecting he hid his very heart of hearts in the seemingly outrageous comments he made. “Oh Jack.”

Melancholy tugged at the edges of his expression before the pirate banished that sadness to the dungeon of his heart again. “I have one more gift for you love,” he told her, ducking into his cabin. He presented a carved wood tea caddy filled with thousands of dried seeds.

“What are these?” she asked.

“Queen Anne’s lace. Well, the seeds, at any rate. Erm…” For the first time ever, he looked uncomfortable, not meeting her eyes, plucking at his sleeves. “Nothing puts a damper on a woman’s freedom like a babe in arms, eh? So if you’re not wanting to be in the family way, drink a spoonful o’ this in a tea once a day until…you know. Your monthly _friend_ comes to call. You’ll be free an’ clear, and ol’ Norry don’t even need to know if you think he’d object.”

Flabbergasted, Elizabeth stared at Jack with mouth hanging wide, unable to process that he would _dare_ speak of such things aloud to her. But slowly this was replaced by wonder, and _gratitude._ For this little detail was in fact something she had been worrying about, and she did not know any way to quell it besides depending on James to aim carefully. Which she was sure he would try to if she requested it, but it still did not seem like the best plan. She found herself launching herself to hug the pirate captain again, to which Jack patted her meekly on the back.

“Jack, you are a marvel. Why on earth do _you_ have this in your cabin?”

He shrugged, but failed to represent the picture of innocence. She would just have to wonder, she supposed.

 

**XXX**

 

The _Swan’s_ first night at sea James stayed late upon the decks, checking everything twice, running his hands along her polished gunwales as though petting her. Learning a new ship was much like taking a new lover, he mused. A good captain had to learn the special nuances of her rigging and her draft, finding that perfect combination of wind and sail that would make her glide across the water as though she had wings. This ship was smaller than the _Dauntless,_ but faster. She would be perfect for waylaying enemy vessels and sailing off with their prize before the French even knew what hit them.

This was no better than glorified piracy. He knew it in his bones. But it was _legal,_ at least to his own government. He was not a traitor. And…he had Elizabeth. Who at this moment was awaiting him in his cabin— _their_ cabin. There was a certain promise he had made, and she no doubt would expect to collect upon it this night.

She had no patience, that one.

The thought made him smile, and retire below.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath away. Elizabeth perched upon the bench below the gallery windows, looking out over the dark sea. She wore a gauzy nightrail and dressing gown, her pretty little bare feet tucked up under her, her hair down about her shoulders, and by her expression he could tell his face betrayed the desired effect she had intended. A single lantern burned, swaying in its place upon a hook.

“Ah, _there_ is my handsome sea captain,” she teased, “Finally returned from his long labors above decks. I certainly hope I will not have cause to be jealous of this _ship,_ James.”

He paid her a tired but content smile, lifting his baldric over his head and hanging it upon a hook. “None, I promise you, my lady,” he said. “She is just a new ship to me—I wanted to feel how she takes the wind.”

Amusedly she raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, but then she was used to hearing Navy men speak of boats as though they were fine women. It was a topic most of the young ladies of Port Royal found exceedingly dull, but she could have eaten it up with a spoon. And now she was _here._ Could her thirteen-year old self have possibly imagined _this_ when she was flipping through her pirate books?

“You sound pleased, Captain Norrington.” For a moment he flashed that true smile, there and gone like a rare bird among the bushes. Watching him outfit this ship and take her to sea with purpose had been like witnessing the making of a new man. Finally, James was in his element again, and it made her heart glad.

“I am, my love. I truly am. All thanks to you, I might add.”

She rose to meet him as he began to shrug out of his jacket, a new green frock coat that became him utterly. Her eager hands helped it along, pushing the sleeves down his arms. Feeling her hands upon him in this way let loose a mad flurry of butterflies within his stomach. There was also the fact that her nightrail appeared to be translucent as moonlight, which he realized in flashes as the folds of her dressing gown parted and came together again.

His heart quickened in his chest. This was the breathy excitement of the bridegroom upon the wedding night, though no nuptials had taken place. Their partnership was different, unusual, though perhaps no less binding. He loved Elizabeth, and strangely enough, he was fairly certain she loved him. What an unexpected turn of events.

“Not _completely_ me,” she reminded him. James was eager to give her all the credit out loud, when it otherwise meant acknowledging Jack Sparrow. But before they had set sail she had witnessed James and Jack have a quiet conversation that ended in a handshake, and that was an image she would cherish for the rest of her days.

“Ha. All this was meant as a gift for _you,_ sweetheart. I know it very well.” His tone was not bitter now, but lightly teasing. How far they all had come. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, even if maybe it was a _little_ bit true. But not entirely. Jack did feel badly about the lives lost in the hurricane, even if it really wasn’t his fault James doggedly sailed _into_ the storm.

“Well, that is no matter, is it?” she said gently, reaching for the buttons of his tunic. “Because _we_ are here together, and the sea is ours for the taking. _Hmm_.” She popped the last button, and took her lip between her teeth as she parted his waistcoat, pushing that from his shoulders too. “Not just the sea…” she said to herself, her hands splayed upon his torso, appearing to appreciate the view while planning how best to plunder him. Her seeming eagerness sent a thrill marching down James’ spine.

It occurred to him that perhaps he should be leading this dance, and he covered her hands with his own, lifting them to kiss her palms each in turn. He leaned down to kiss her lips, his large hands upon her waist pulling her against him. She moaned into his mouth as his hands dragged up the ladder of her ribcage, and he felt her soften against him, melting under his touch. What a marvel that only for him, Elizabeth Swann seemed a creature made of soft curves and feminine sighs.

This did not last for long; soon she was back to her own explorations, grasping the hem of his linen shirt and lifting, signaling that she wanted it _gone._ He let her have her way. He always did, after all.

Elizabeth paused at the sight of him, her lip clasped between her teeth in the way that signaled she was carefully considering something. Her hands drifted across his trim torso, the ridges of his muscles and all the numerous scars, her brow furrowing at how _many_ told a story of countless mishaps in battle across his skin. Then her attention caught at the long chain about James’ neck, which had always been hidden away from sight by the layers of his clothing. At the end of it, over his heart, dangled a small gold ring engraved with flowers around the outside. She recognized that ring, for she had worn it for what couldn’t have been more than a single week, before she’d jilted him for a blacksmith.

James froze, cursing himself for not hiding it away in a box before this night. In truth it was such a part of him he’d forgotten he even had it on. Even when living rough on Tortuga, lying in wait for Jack Sparrow without a penny to his name, he’d refused to sell it. It did not belong to him, really. There was one woman and one woman alone to whom he would relinquish it, but the last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured this night.

“Oh James…” she said, pressing her hand over his heart, the metal of the ring between them. “All this time, you kept that too?”

“Ah…so it would seem,” he replied sheepishly, making to lift it over his head. “I will just—”

“May I wear it again?”

She could not have stupefied him more had she struck him with an oar. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and he wondered if he’d heard her correctly.

“If… _only_ if you _want_ to,” he answered quietly, and her smile was lovely as the break of dawn.

“Of course I want to. I _love_ you, James. Do you not want me to?”

It seemed odd that he would carry it, if he did not hope to give it to her again. But perhaps she had misunderstood, blundered ahead in her usual way—

He kissed her deeply, lifting her lithe body off the floor in his fervor, and she was noticing he had a habit of heading off disaster by pressing his lips to hers. She found it _quite_ agreeable. When at last they parted he pressed his forehead to hers, a smile upon his lips. “Would you repeat that, if you please?”

The laugh that escaped her was breathy and full of desire. “ _I love you, James Norrington._ ” Had she truly not told him so? Perhaps she had not. She had certainly confessed her love of her younger years, but she realized she had not said it directly of _now,_ and assuming he _knew_ just from her wheeling and dealing for their future was not entirely fair.

Again, he kissed her, and swiftly her bones were beginning to melt beneath his touch, her knees weak beneath her.

“I _do_ want you to wear it,” he assured her with that unexpected flash of a smile that could only accompany the truth. “It is just…I thought perhaps you’d had enough of such things, for a while.”

She laughed, which was not exactly the reaction he expected. “I suppose I cannot blame you for having that impression,” she mused. “But I finally feel I have found the place where I belong. I would not turn back now.”

James reached up to unclasp the chain, slipping it through the ring with a metallic slithering that seemed to echo in the cabin. Elizabeth offered her hand and slowly James slipped on the ring, caressing the sensitive skin between her fingers as he did so. It caused her eyes to slip closed, enjoying his touch and the weight of the gold band. Perhaps once she’d found it a burden, but now she felt _anchored_ to the man she loved _._ Bound, but not constrained. In a way it was even _freeing,_ she supposed, because there was no uncertainty left between them. No more room for misunderstanding. There was only…she stood up on tiptoe to capture his lips again, holding him close with arms looped around his neck.

Amidst their kiss James dared begin to slide her dressing gown from her shoulders, and she shuddered as the fine silk whispered across her skin, his lips trailing from her jaw to the sensitive line of her long neck. He traced the line of her body from the swell of her hips to the valley of her waist, up to brazenly cup one breast, gently teasing her nipple between his fingers. It sent a maddening jolt through her body, straight to her core. She felt _dizzy,_ drunk on his touch, his mouth, his _love._

“You may take me to the trundle or the window seat, darling, but do it soon, else I may lose my mind,” she warned him as she reached for the placket of his breeches, winning a low chuckle.

“The window seat? I had not considered that…” he teased, sweeping her up into his arms. It was a lie, of course. There was not a horizontal surface—or even some vertical—he had not considered in anticipation of this night. He bore her down onto the cushions, kneeling before her. Her nightrail _was_ completely sheer, and he could see the dusky rose of peaked nipples, the curves of her waist, the shadow of downy curls between her legs.

He could not help but recall a fateful day on the docks, when a sopping wet Elizabeth Swann had stood in her underthings, newly risen from defying death and defying him too in her protest of the treatment of her savior. The image of her in that wet chemise had haunted him ever after, robbed him of sleep, nights he lay awake desperate _not_ to remember what he had seen, and how she had felt pressed up against him, _flung_ at him as the pirate had made his escape from the docks.

Time slowed as he took her in, too long perhaps, for she asked in an uncharacteristically uncertain voice, “James?”

“God you are beautiful,” he somehow managed to voice, his voice rough with desire. “The most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Sufficiently assured, her confidence returned ten-fold. “You haven’t even _seen_ me yet,” she reminded him cheekily.

With the flat of his palm he caressed the length of her leg, such, _long_ lovely legs that had been taunting him so brazenly clad in breeches since she found him on Tortuga. He explored the curve of her ankle, her calf, her knee, Grasping her hem, he asked, “May I remedy that?”

Lips parted with desire, she nodded, he eyes sliding closed as he slowly lifted her skirts, kissing the hallowed skin that he revealed inch by inch. She gasped as his lips found the silken skin of her inner thigh, his teeth scraping lightly as though he might like to take a bite of her. Instinctively her legs pressed closed, but with a low sound from deep in his chest James spread them once more, his hands upon her thighs. She was tall for a woman, yet somehow in his hands she felt _small,_ and even more surprisingly, she liked it.

Green eyes flashed as he looked up at her; his expression was hungry, possessive, a wolf keen on his prey. Though she’d always known he was a hunter—for a man who did not have _a little_ instinct for blood never could have caught and hanged so many pirates—in that moment she _felt_ it. He’d never _dared_ look at her that way before, and it made her flush warm all over, her body suddenly seeming unable to fit into her own skin. Had his grip not anchored her to the window seat she would have squirmed, unable to contain this sudden surge of desire. It throbbed between her legs, the most _exquisite_ ache that only worsened as his mouth trailed higher and higher.

It was _unbearable._ Intolerable. _Deliciously_ indecent.

When he reached the apex of her thighs and kissed her _there_ she thought she might _die_ for the explosion of new sensations that assaulted her. So strange and so _pleasurable_ that she simply did not know what to _do_.

She held on.

To his shoulders, his hair, the covering of the cushions, _anything_ she could reach as his lips and tongue moved upon that most intimate part of her, evoking sensations so sweet she could hardly stand it, and yet she could not move, willing him closer, _deeper_. It was all so new, and yet a part of her _knew_ all along, knew that if she tilted her hips just so, coaxed his magnificent mouth to _just_ the right pressure…she flew to pieces, her back arching with a ragged cry, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane as he rode her down through the aftershocks of the explosion.

Vaguely she felt him smile against the skin of her thigh, a gentle kiss calling her back from the gold-rimmed ecstasy he brought down upon her.

Amazing as it was, she knew that was only _part_ of what she wanted, and she reached for him as she fell back against the pillows of the window seat. “Come here, darling,” she demanded. “I need _you_.” Pausing only for a moment to remove his breeches, James obeyed, kissing her sweetly as he drew her nightrail over her head and lowered himself upon her. She sighed for the delicious weight of him pressing her down into the cushions, his curves so perfectly meeting her hollows, in every way except…

Curious, she moved her hips against his manhood pressing against her, winning a ragged groan that filled her with a heady sense of _triumph._ She wanted more. She wanted to render him into a wild and needy vessel for pleasure, the way he had her not moments ago. “ _Please?”_ she pleaded, attempting to align her hips with his.

Her eagerness _was_ like a drug, and James reckoned he would never quite manage to sate himself. Always, he would want more. “You know this will hurt a little, sweetheart?” he asked, kissing her cheek, her ear, the curve of her neck, pulling forth a maddening sigh. “I’m so sorry. I wish it were not so. But just this first time…”

“It’s not going to hurt me _near_ as much as it will hurt you if you don’t get on with it,” she teased, winning a chuckle against her neck that sent shivers racing across her skin. But it was the sweeter plea of, _“Please?_ I _need_ you, James,” that won him to her. He positioned himself at her entrance, looking down into her face as slowly he began to push inside. She held his gaze as long as she could, his green eyes sending a thrill through her, making her feel more naked than the actual loss of her clothing had. He _saw_ her, and she would never be able to hide from him again.

It _did_ hurt, and yet she urged him on, wrapping long legs around his waist, her face buried against the column of his neck. Yet she knew it was good for him—knew it by the singing tension in his back that relaxed slightly as he was sheathed completely inside her—knew it by the way he sighed her name into her hair. _“Oh Elizabeth.”_ She felt a fierce victory in this, the pain a more than fair price for this conquest.

James stilled for her, letting her adjust, and what had been a sharp ache gradually faded to something far more than bearable.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Move for me?” she requested, her teeth grazing his whiskered chin, and she felt his smile upon her lips before he kissed her deeply. He did, and she discovered that the pleasure in this part of the act must be the intimacy of it. Holding him close, able to feel the muscles of his back and buttocks as he thrust inside her, his breathing quickened by desire hot upon her throat. Then James braced himself with an arm beneath her shoulders, reaching between them to touch that place he’d claimed so thoroughly with his mouth before.

Oh no, she reckoned. _This_ was the pleasure in this act, and with his body inside hers as he teased her she thought she might go mad with the sweetness of it, it was so intense, so fulfilling. Here, now, with James inside her, she finally felt truly _whole._

 _“Come for me, my sweet Elizabeth,”_ he whispered in her ear, his teeth scraping the lobe, pulling lightly. Never in a thousand years could she have imagined James speaking such naughty words in such dulcet tones, _and she loved it._ There was a ragged quality to his words, and she knew he must be close, must be holding himself off by a thread of self-control so that she might have her chance at that exquisite release again.

She felt it filling the cradle of her hips, gathering like a snake coiled to strike, mounting, mounting, until—“ _James_!” she cried out, again at the mercy of that inexorable wave that washed through her body, bending her like a willow in the wind. It seemed to push him over the edge too, his long body tensing against her, his hips locked against hers. How right, how _perfect_ , to meet this shining finish together. In the end he surprised her when abruptly he hauled back, spilling upon her belly with her name on his lips like a prayer.

Breathing heavily, they lay in a tangled knot of limbs for what felt like hours but only could have been a minute or so. James laughed shakily, tenderly kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “My God,” he wheezed, falling to the side, gathering her to him. “You are _too_ perfect, my love.” This belayed whatever momentary uncertainty she may have felt from his laughter or her own inexperience. She realized it was very much a sound of joyful disbelief.

Her gaze travelled longingly across the room to the trundle bed they’d had made, longer than usual for James’ tall frame, wider than usual to accommodate two. But she didn’t think her limbs would work, so she curled closer against her lover, nestling under his chin. Lazily he reached for his discarded shirt, using it to clean his seed from her belly. It filled her with an unexpected warmth, that he had taken this care with her, without her even having to ask. “Thank you,” she said, kissing his jaw.

Perhaps she would tell him about her herbal remedy later. And omit where exactly she got it. Yes, that would probably be best…

“I thought parenthood might be an adventure best postponed for us,” he admitted, and Elizabeth smiled, realized he could not see it, and nodded. She found she was not in fact opposed to the idea of children with James. Just, not _yet_.

“Yes,” she agreed. “There are plenty of other adventures on the horizon for us now. Are you _happy,_ James?”

He chuckled sleepily, pulling her closer still. “There was a time when I was certain I would never be happy again,” he admitted to her.

“After the hurricane?” she asked quietly, toying with the ends of his hair absently.

“After losing _you_ ,” he corrected, and this confession filled her inexplicably with both an exquisite warmth and terrible guilt, and somehow she managed to clutch him closer still. She would never let him go. Never again. “But now…” He kissed her sweetly, slowly, igniting that slow coil of warmth in her belly all over again. “I have the love of my life in my arms, upon our _own_ ship. It’s a fairytale ending I certainly couldn’t have imagined on my own.”

Elizabeth scolded him with a _pssshhh_ sound hissed between her teeth, tangling her long legs with his. “This is hardly the _ending_ , darling. We’ve only just begun our story.” A story that began in an adolescent girl’s journal, a married name repeated in hopeful ink, a spell stitched in silk floss and blood that surely invoked a love that spanned oceans, weathered hurricanes, and outlasted the direst states of ruin on a pirate island.

“You’re right, sweetheart. I quite agree.”

They fell asleep to the sound of water rushing past the hull, the _Swan_ flying on a following sea towards their destiny. Whatever the horizon might have in store for them, fabulous riches or foul weather, they both slept soundly in knowing they would face it _together_.

 

# The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I cherish your comments, those of you who are so kind to leave them! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you kindly for reading and your comments! They always make my day! :)


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